Erik von Blucher was a deserter from the Army of the Third Reich. He had brought shame on the name von Blucher, the name of the Prussian general who had defeated Napoleon I at the Battle of Waterloo. Erik did not have respect for himself for deserting, but he knew Nazi Germany was not as invincible as it seemed. Things were going poorly in the Third Russian War, where his cousin had been killed by Ivan Stalin. There were rumors, though he did not believe all of them because he had fervently followed the Party when he was a youth, of camps for dissidents. Now, alone and on the run, he found himself in the Pine Barrens, there to seek out fellow miscreants and traitors. With any luck, he would not meet any of the "dread Jersey devils," a wild breed of monsters. When the nukes dropped, animals suffered terrible side-effects. Dogs the size of horses, cats the size of lions, "thunder birds;" mutated hawks and eagles. Even years after the last bombs had dropped, the animals drank radioactive water, breathed contaminated air, walked on poison dirt, and ate other contaminated creatures.

He started coughing vehemently. He looked at his radiation detector; it was a hot zone. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his gas mask. He removed his stahlhelm and put the mask on. "There, that's better." He donned his helmet and continued on. He thought he had seen someone in this section of forest earlier. He was desperate for someone to talk to. He pulled out his machete and started smacking branches out of the way. After he went about half a mile, he sat down on a boulder. He checked his Krupp K-89 rapid-fire machine gun and cleaned the barrel. He put a raggy shirt behind his head as a pillow and dozed off.

Ten minutes later Erik was awakened by a loud noise like a firearm. When he looked down at the ground below his rocky perch, there was a dead devil with a bullet in its skull. He immediately grabbed his Krupp and looked for the shooter.

"Vho ist dere? Vhere are you?!" He took off the safety.

"Easy, neighbor. Calm down. I just saved your life from that mutant mutt. It was sizin' you up right as I put a shot in its head. Now, I can tell yer a Kraut, pardon the expression, so what're you doing here?"

Erik did not lower his weapon. "Vho are you? You tell me first!"

The man tossed his rifle onto the ground. "Look, neighbor, I don't mean you no harm. Name's Bernie McCoy."

"Vell, 'Bernie,' my name ist Bruno Erikson," he lied.

Bernie nodded. "Ya look like one, Bruno. Tell ya what, you lower that gun, and maybe we can be friends. I can tell you're a deserter. Why else would a German be here?"

Erik was prepared to shoot the man, but he knew Bernie would not be able to tell anyone that mattered. "Okay, my name ist Erik von Blucher."

"Our group of traders. We come here every so often to trade with the people around here. We're about to leave. C'mon, I'll take you to the others. We set up a mini-fort over yonder, there's fresh...er air there. We won't need these darned contraptions on our faces there." Bernie also sported a mask, like any common sense person would. The Barrens were not directly bombed, but thanks to nature, it was hard hit by fallout, and many of the trees were dead. Still, 'many' in the Barrens still left a few thousand.

Bernie checked out the mutant first. "Yep, German shepherd. Hehe, those things're scary even when they ain't mutn't. All righty, c'mon." Bernie led Erik about a mile north-west. They arrived at a partially dissembled camp. Six men, Bernie's fellow traders, were finishing packing up. Bernie shouted a greeting, and the other men did the same. Immediately they were upset over the presence of Erik.

One man who sported a "Smokey the Bear" hat like Bernie's cupped his hands to his mouth, "Say, ain't that a Kraut?! What's 'e doin' here, McCoy?"

Bernie patted Erik on the back. "Deserter. Saved 'im from a mutant shepherd back there. He seems all right, guys. He coulda shot me, but he didn't."

Later...

Erik sat on the back of one of the traders' spare horses. A few saddlebags were attached to the saddle which contained valuables, and his Krupp gun hung around the saddle horn, ready to be used in case of mutant attack or assault by Jersey "tribesmen," wild men and women, usually sporting Indian mohawks and primitive weapons. They thought they had seen a scout earlier, spying on them from a patch of bushes. Needless to say, they were nervous.

Erik pulled out his binoculars and scouted the area. Two of the traders did likewise. "See anything, McCoy?"

Bernie lowered his glasses, "Naw, nothin'. The savages wouldn't dare attack u- Sweet mother of Hitler what is that?!" A loud whooping noise was coming from the forest, mixed with a loud engine sound. Before they realized what was happening, a motorcycle-mounted, mohawked savage was coming at them with a homemade spear. Other gang members, unmounted, were rushing out of the same area.

Sweat beads dripped down Erik's face. He was a deserter. He was a coward. He had shamed the family name.

"No."

He lifted his Krupp gun and opened fire. The motorcycle flipped over and exploded. Getting off his startled horse, Erik took the fight to them. Spraying round after round at the attackers, it became a scene of great carnage. Calmly, he popped out the old cartridge and put in another. The traders were also firing their far more dated weapons, but they had to be careful not to hit Erik, as he was now in the midst of the fight, The savages formed a circle around him in a hope to overwhelm him, but he just did a 360 and annihilated them. Finally, a limber gang member with a machete leaped down off a tree branch. Erik was knocked over and dropped his gun, but he countered by taking out his own machete. The two dueled while packs of savages assaulted the trader caravan. Finally, the savage scored a hit, hitting Erik's swastika arm patch. Another hit scored on his thigh, but it was not too bad. Furious, he unleashed his full strength on the mohawked robber. With a weakening blow on the man's bare sword arm, he did a full roundhouse swing, decapitating the foe. He again threw himself into the brawl, throwing punches left and right and hacking with his machete. The thugs were now very weakened, and the traders intensified their shooting. Finally, they started to back off.

As the savages retreated, one made a fatal slip of the tongue: "C'mon, you guys! Les g'back to the foirm!"

"Bingo," muttered Bernie. Erik, who was close enough to hear, knew what he meant.

As soon as the traders were mounted up, Bernie announced his plan. "Okay, that one guy mentioned 'getting back to the foirm.' If you have trouble understanding their mutilated English, they have a farm, likely a pre-war one. I say we assault; you saw us! Erik fought like a man inspired and we didn't lose one guy. The time is right. Let's rid Jersey of some savages!" The others unanimously agreed. And for the first time in a long while, Erik felt a sense of pride. Maybe he just had trouble fighting for the Reich. For himself and the kind traders who had helped him? Yes, he could do that.

The seven men burst out of the brush, muzzles flashing in the moonlight as they filled the thugs full of holes. The savages were shocked and terrified, many ran for their lives, only to be mowed down. It was like the Battle of Little Bighorn, that is, like it if Custer's men possessed rapid-fire machine guns and pistols. As the men broke through the feeble wall of junk and its defenders, the run-down farmhouse became clear. The thugs were trying to all get in at the same time. What resulted was like a crowded store that just caught on fire: people trample each other and end up killing themselves trying to get out, or, in this case, in. Erik and the traders kept firing, showing mercy only to children and some of the wounded, although Bernie seemed to be killing the wounded, too. They ancient front porch of the house became so overloaded with people and bodies and bullet holes that it collapsed. Much of the front of the house followed. Cries of terror and agony rang in their ears as the building partially collapsed.

Erik looked through the dust cloud to see only wounded and killed. Behind him, the traders were dealing with the braver thugs who had decided to make a stand. Seconds later, it was over. He looked through the wreckage. Mangled body parts and limbs stuck up like a horror movie. The traders put the dying men out of their misery. The other half of the house still stood, but only the wounded were stirring. Bernie went through the wreckage of the collapsed portion, wiping them out.

Bernie kicked one man in the side. "Die you savage! You monster!" The fellow's cries for mercy were stopped short as Bernie shot him in the ear.

Erik grew sick from the gore and tackled McCoy. "Stop it! Stop! Stop, Bernie! They're helpless and dying!" He grabbed McCoy's pistol and tossed it away. He then arm-locked him. "Enough! Vhy are you doing this?"

McCoy stopped struggling but looked just as furious as ever. "They... killed... my... family. They slaughtered them! They decapitated my parents and put their heads on pikes! I must avenge them! I must!"

Immediately, McCoy threw a punch which Erik barely managed to dodge. Countering quickly, Erik punched him in the mouth, followed by an uppercut that knocked him out. McCoy crashed through some boards and hit the ground. The other traders thought Erik had done the right thing and tied Bernie's hands.

Erik knelt down beside the man McCoy had gone ape on. The man had a pair of rotting blue jeans and a mutant-skin vest over his torso. Around his neck hung a cross on a chain. In his pocket, a Bible. Erik was shocked and moved. Even some of the savages 'had religion.' This one appeared to likely be Catholic like himself. He turned the man over, closed his glassy eyes, and put the crucifix in the man's crossed hands. Erik used his military shovel and dug a shallow grave and buried him. He took two boards and a nail and made a grave marker. As he stood beside the grave of his enemy, he heard a voice behind him. "Tank you." The accented voice belonged, as Erik saw when he turned around, a small boy. The kid sported a mohawk like the grown men of the gang and had some ragged 50's clothes. "Tanks for buryin' my dad."

Erik stooped down beside him. "I'm sorry. I'm sure he was a good man."

Erik gave the kid his canteen. "Don't worry, if you don't have anyvhere to go, ve'll look out for you."

The boy looked at his ripped sleeve. "Are you wana tem Krauts dad and mom always talk about? They dropped the Big Boom. They're supposed to have crosses on their arms, like yours."

Erik was reluctant to admit it, but he did. "Ja. Or 'yes.' I'm a German. My people dropped the Big Boom. I wish we hadn't. Our leader was too powerful for his and everyone's good."

The boy raised one of his fingers to his upper lip and raised his arm in a mock hail. "Tat leader?"

Erik smiled. "Yes, his name vas Hitler. I guess you've seen pictures of him, eh?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah! Tat's right! My dad and my grandfather used to be his men, or his successor, whoever he was."

Erik's eyes widened. "You mean... They left the army?"

"Yep! They said they weren't 'cut out for it.' My granpa had a photo of Hister."

Erik could hardly believe his ears. The man McCoy had killed was a German soldier. He knew he'd look out for the boy from now on. " 'Hitler,' not 'Hister.' Come on, let's see if ve can find your zister." Erik took out a flashlight and shone it into the rubble. When they did not find her body among the wreckage, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Maybe she's just wounded and inside the other half of the house." They climbed up the rubble and into the shell of the back part off the house. Corpses were strewn on the floor, but the kid did not see his sister. When they scanned the first floor and found nothing, Erik instructed the boy, who told him his name was Dietrich, to stay on the first floor. With a description of her from Dietrich, Erik tested the first step up to the second story. It was unstable, but he had to risk it. The first three stairs held. The fourth cracked and fell. Luckily, Erik got to the next stair before it collapsed. After about thirty seconds, he reached the second floor. There were far fewer corpses. He looked around what seemed like a former bedroom. A rusty bed frame sat broken on the floor, the mattress long gone. He spotted a closet door in one corner. Slowly, with pistol drawn, he creaked it open. His light fell upon a girl huddled in a corner of the filthy wardrobe. She looked about 18, a few years younger than Erik, 23. He scared her to death, and she fired a pistol at him. Erik's helmet went flying through the air. Feeling his head as he got out of the line of fire, he realized his brain was still there. He let her run out of rounds firing blankly at nothing. Slowly, he advanced toward the closet. "Please, don't attack me. I'm here to help, just calm down. Your brother knows me. He likes me. Don't be afraid." Slowly, she dropped the ancient Colt and stood up. She didn't have a mohawk, but her hair was still Indian-looking and had the red hair paint and feathers that were popular among the Wastelanders. She had a pair of jeans that had been patched time and time again and a worn-out flannel shirt. a gas mask hung from her mutant-hide belt. Her eyes bulged and she was shaking with fear.

"You're... You're a Nazi." She understood much more than Dietrich. "You came here to kill my father for deserting!"

Erik grabbed her arms as she readied to scratch his eyes out. "No! I'm a deserter, too! I didn't kill your father! I tried to help him, but... it was too late. I buried him. I'm sorry."

She looked at him skeptically. "A deserter? Really?"

"Jawohl, mein frau."

She clearly understood German by what she said next: "Mein name ist Sophie Fischer. Mein bruder's name ist Dietrich."

"He told me," Erik said in English. "The only reason me and mein friends attacked this place ist because your people attacked us earlier. We needed to teach them a lesson. I'm sorry your parents are gone. Most of the nomads around here are total savages; I did not expect a civilized, religious family here. We better get back to your brother." He assisted her getting down the stairs and back to Dietrich. The kid gave his sister a hug and they followed Erik over to the traders.

McCoy looked like he was going to have a seizure. Not only had Erik stuck up for the dying savages, now he had brought survivors right in front of him. He immediately unleashed a string of oaths and curses. "Why?! These savages need to be exterminated! Shoot them!"

Erik stood in front of him. "Shut up." McCoy's eyes widened. "I've heard you condemn the Nazis. You sound like the radicals. 'Exterminate! Exterminate!' " McCoy looked a little more composed, but not a lot. "Besides, they aren't savages. They're the children and grandchildren of deserters. German deserters. They're highly intelligent. I vant to help them. I know vhat makes them tick."

Dietrich went over next to Bernie. "Please, let us stay with you guys! We don't hate you or any'ing. Please?"

"Their parents are dead, McCoy. Do it. Let them stay. I can tell the other men like them. If you don't let them stay, I won't either. If you're bushwhacked later, I can't help you anymore. Do it." Erik was dead earnest.

McCoy stared at them for a moment. It was not as bad as he had thought. At least they were Germans. "All... All right. They can stay. But they're your responsibility! I won't let them get hurt if I can help it, but I won't be on high alert. They're your problem."

Erik grinned. "Danke. You're not that bad a man then, are you? Vell, then, vhere are we going now?"

One of the traders cut the rope around McCoy's hands. Bernie got up, dusted himself off, and put his brown "smokey" hat back on. "To Pennsylvania. I have a friend there. Will Welch is his name. Traders stick together, you know?" He loaded his weapon and mounted his horse. "C'mon. We're going to Spruce County."

I'm thinking that they meet up with James, Gunner, and the Dutch right after the end of Hikaro's last post, if that makes sense.

_________________LEGO Builder, Writer, Video-Gamer, Greaser, History Professor, Swordsman, and Military Collector. I am the Most Interesting Man in the World. :p

Last edited by Napoleon on Sat May 14, 2011 1:26 pm, edited 3 times in total.

Thundering applause sounded as the Hitler Youth choir finished singing "Es zittern die morschen Knochen" (The rotten bones are trembling). As the Fuhrer's car made its way to the podium, a huge group of jackbooted soldiers, carrying the flags of their respective German or fascist-controlled regions, entered the building. The first was Italy, its black-shirted troops carrying the tri-color of Mussolini. After that was France. Shako-wearing quisling troops thundered into the building, carrying the most modern weapons. At that point, the Vichy French anthem was sung. After the French came the Swiss. They had submitted to German domination through peaceful means in the 1980's. After the Swiss came Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and other, smaller countries, like the Chinese states and Vietnam. Then came the South Africans. The thundering troops made the building shake. South Africa was one of the most powerful countries in the world. It had cooperated willfully, and was never attacked. Half of Africa belonged to them. Near the end came the British. Wearing camouflage and bullet-proof armor, they were very impressive. People clapped at the show of force, but everyone was anticipating the last group. Burgundy. The state that belonged solely to the Waffen SS, the biggest, meanest, most brutal group of men since Attila the Hun. Wild applause broke out. The black and silver uniformed men goosestepped down the aisles of by-standers.

By this time, Adolph had made his way to the podium. The crowd went wild.

"Seig!"

"Heil!"

"Seig!"

"Heil!"

"Heil mein Fuhrer! Heil Hitler!"

Hitler III soaked up the applause. He had no facial hair, but he sported his grandfather's hair and a replica of his uniform.

Representatives of each country planted their flag behind him. Almost all of Europe, Africa, and Asia. Even representatives for the Emperor of Japan were present, saluting Hitler with katanas.

Finally, Adolph spoke. "My countrymen. My allies. Germania is complete!" More applause. "My Grandfather's dream is complete! Berlin is no more. Only Germania is there! This new building, the Heinrich Himmler Memorial Rally Building, will be the home of my speeches and those of my successors. As Fuhrer, it is my responsibility to encourage science, genetics, astronomy, and etcetera. Our Chief Minister of Science, Dietrich Himmelburger, has been working on perfecting our armed forces for thirty years. I will now turn the podium over to him for a few minutes. Heil!"

"Heil!" The crowd applauded the famous scientist as he settled himself on the podium. After clearing his throat, he spoke. "People of the World. Germany has made a scientific breakthrough like none before. Since 1956, we have been working on Project Zet, a huge, top secret research mission. What was it, you may ask? A mission to send man to the moon. Yes, the moon. So, in exactly one minute, you will witness a rocket blastoff from a secret facility in Oldenburg. A group of men will finally accomplish that goal! We are going to the moon!"

The crowd went nuts. Within seconds a huge screen appeared on the ceiling. A large, sci-fi-looking rocket was shown, the timer to blastoff ticking away. The fanatical citizens sang the Horst Wessel Lied as they waited. 30 seconds later, it happened. With a huge flame and a cloud of smoke, it lifted off the ground.

4 days later...

Goering 11, Nazi Rocket...

"Earth, this is Captain Bernhardt von Sachse of the Astroluft. Oldenburg, we have a problem. Oldenburg, we have a problem," said the astronaut over the comm system.

A voice answered; Dietrich Himmelburger. "Ja? What is it?"

"Something strange, mein herr. We can't get the landing craft to deploy! It's as if... we've been hacked. The computer for the boosters isn't working either."

"What? This is most troubling. This is being viewed across the planet! Get it to work. It must work. Check out console #7."

"What do you think that was?" one astronaut, Karl Ludwig, asked Bernhardt before the hatch opened.

"I don't know... I don't like it. Oh, well, we seem to be fine now." Bernhardt checked his gray space suit and made sure everything was working. "All right, Karl, open the hatch." Bernhardt surveyed the lunar surface for a moment and then stepped down onto the dusty ground. "That's one small step for me, one giant step for Deutschland." He hobbled over to a crater and looked inside. They had done it. It had taken a long time, but they had finally gone to the moon. Bernhardt and Karl snapped a swastika flag together and hammered it into the ground. "There! We did it! Hahaha! We did it!" People all around the world heard their conversation. The two men patted each other on the back.

"Wait, what's happening?!" shouted Karl. Two seconds later, they let out a scream and the video cut to static.

Oldenburg's launch facility went into a frenzy. Himmelburger ran from one computer to another, pounding on buttons. "Was ist los?! What's going on? Schumann, get me in contact with the main ship. Now!"

Leutnant Schumann immediately pushed buttons like a man possessed. "Goering 11, come in! Goering 11, come in, bitte!" Finally, the remaining crew members of G11 appeared on the screen. They were floating limply in zero gravity. Dead. The world was shocked. Seconds later, satellite pictures covered the explosion of the G11.

The camera cut to static.

_________________LEGO Builder, Writer, Video-Gamer, Greaser, History Professor, Swordsman, and Military Collector. I am the Most Interesting Man in the World. :p

Last edited by Napoleon on Sun May 15, 2011 4:39 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Erik's horse trudged through the mud. A huge rain storm was shellacking travelers on the Pennsylvania border. Several of the horses had died already, but so far, there were still enough horses for everyone. Right as Erik thought that, his horse neighed and fell over into the rising levels of mud. Fortunately, Erik managed to get his leg out from under the animal. He pulled himself up off the ground, covered in mud. Feeling himself, he realized he was not injured, except for a cut on his face. He was about to cuss, but remembered 10 year-old Dietrich was present. He checked the horse and realized it was mortally injured. He pulled out Luger and shot it between the eyes. There were no horses remaining, so he kept walking, a picture of misery. He had to strain hard not to let his boots slip off, and he was feeling ill from the dunking. He walked ahead of the others another few hundred yards until McCoy's horse fell over dead. Bernie hit the ground even harder than Erik had. Erik made his way over to McCoy and grabbed his arm. Pulling with all his might, he finally helped Bernie stand upright.

"It's never been this bad!" shouted McCoy while putting his hat back on.

Erik nodded and said nothing. A mile later, they were totally exhausted. They found higher ground; an old winding, hilly, paved road, though most of the pavement had been turned into rubble long ago. The horses were getting worse though. A small donkey that carried their pots, pans, and other cooking equipment slipped and fell off the hill. With loud clanking and thudding, it rolled all the way to the bottom, where it drowned, that is, if it had not been killed rolling down, which was probably what happened. They kept moving on. It was brutal.

"Now I know how Napoleon's troops felt during the Withdraw from Russia!" yelled McCoy.

Erik, for the first time in two days, grinned. "How do you know that much about Napoleonic and European history? The other day you told me about Mad King Ludwig of Bavaria. Not too many volks care about him, especially not traders on the Eastern Zeaboard."

McCoy almost sounded like he was making it up, but Erik did not press it. He shrugged himself and focused on more important things. He turned around and looked at his two "responsibilities." Dietrich and Sophie were both mounted on the largest of the horses, but even it did not look healthy. "We should stop soon. I don't think we can last much longer!"

McCoy nodded. "Yep. I need some food."

The hill became steeper. At the top was a patch of trees where they tied up the animals and erected a tent. They huddled inside, but, obviously, could not start a fire. Erik threw his uniform in a tub of rainwater and one of the traders loaned him a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Two hours later, the rain stopped. Erik looked in the bag of food. "Meh, there's a couple cans of northern beans and some bread. That's camp food. I'm going to see if I can hunt something." He put on his helmet and grabbed a rifle. He was about to leave when Sophie stopped him.

"Wait, Erik, I used to hunt all the time." She proved her point by pointing to her deerskin boots. She grabbed a pistol and tucked it under her belt.

They used binoculars to scan the nearby hills. Chances were that much of the local wildlife had been driven up the hills by the flood of mud. "So, Sophie, what are you used to hunting?"

She lowered her binoculars to respond. "Deer, but mainly mutants. You don't want to see a mutant deer."

Erik snorted and laughed. "They can't look any vorse than my teacher at the Gymnasium. He was the meanest old fart you've ever seen."

This, in turn, caused her to laugh, the first time since Erik had met her. She pointed to a small deer on a nearby hill. "There!"

Erik aimed his rifle and fired, hitting the animal right below the right ear. He shouldered his rifle again. "C'mon, let's get it. By the way... laugh more often; I like it."

She stared at him for a moment thinking about what he said and then began following him down the hill. They had to wade through the now-hardening mud, which was difficult, but they finally got to their carcass. Erik slung the small animal over his back and started back to the camp. When they made it back, the traders commented on the swiftness of the kill. "While that cooks, I'm going outside with the glasses for a while." She left.

She went back across the mud to the spot they had killed the deer and into the nearby trees. She felt the lowest branches of one dead tree and scampered up, using the knowledge of climbing all Wastelanders had. Once she got to the top of the tree, she scanned the horizon. There it was. Philadelphia. It had been nuked long ago, but people had since started living there again. "Yes. Civilization." She climbed down, but in her eagerness, fell off and hit the ground. Shaking it off, she ran as fast as she could back to the camp. When she was there, she barged into the tent and told them. They immediately packed up and hit the road. When they got to the city limits, they noticed something was wrong.

Gunfire.

Suddenly, shots started flying through the air. Erik and the others took cover and looked for a reason for the violence. Then, a man in a black trench coat firing a grease gun and flanked by members of what looked to be the Waffen SS barged out of a building. Erik immediately regretted putting his uniform back on. The man spotted him and called him over. "Gefreiter, Ich brauche eure Hilfe!" Erik had no choice and hustled over, leaving his fellow travelers behind a wall for cover. He checked his Krupp machine gun and fired a few shots into the air to make it look like he was fighting. He grouped up with the SS men. "Wir werden angegriffen! Storm dass der Bau dieser Schutzstaffel Soldaten!" Erik and three of the four SS men ran across the street. The Schutzstaffel men did not even give Erik a chance to shoot. The two men who were firing out the windows at the trench coat man were riddled with holes in a millisecond. As they loaded their weapons, one of them looked up and stared at Erik.

"Du bist ein Deserteur!"

Erik had to act. He fired several rounds into the SS officer's chest, and turned and mowed down the other. The second man went crashing through a table a flipped over backwards in what reminded Erik of a Johannes Bond movie. He ran out into the street and fired on the other SS men. One of them went down instantly and crashed through a store window. Another, on top of a roof, did a dramatic fall after several wounds and landed in a dumpster. The remaining 4 realized that one of their own was attacking them. The man in the trench coat fired his grease gun and managed to shoot Erik in the shoulder. Erik dropped his gun and fell to his knees. Then he collapsed.

McCoy shouted a curse at the soldiers and loaded his rifle. Sophie and Dietrich looked like they had just lost their parents all over again. Furious, McCoy and Sophie charged out from behind the wall, followed by the other traders. McCoy blasted one soldier right through his helmet. Sophie, meanwhile, fired several pistol shots at the man in the trench coat. When she got close, she did a flying kick, knocking away the man's gun. She whipped out a knife and inserted it into the man's neck. Blood spluttered out and the man let out a garbled yelp. McCoy landed a punishing uppercut that broke another soldier's neck. The traders gunned down the remaining two.

As they checked Erik's condition, a voice cried out. "Lowenstein's dead!" Several men in tan trench coats came out of a store, toting modern machine guns and handguns. They assisted in patching up Erik. "Ain't that bad," said one of them. After Erik could stand, they suddenly knocked everyone out, including Erik.

"All right," said one of them in Pennsylvania Dutch, "Load them onto the truck. We'll take 'em to see the governor." He lit a cigar and put his pistol in his concealed jacket holster. No one could know that the Dutch had bumped off Lowenstein. Ludwig Schwarz had met an "unfortunate accident" on the highway an hour earlier. His car had malfunctioned and blew up. The man took his cigar out and got into his kubelwagen. "Haha. Unfortunate accident. Hahaha. Hahahaha! Haha! Oh... All right, leutnant, drive on!" Earlier Nazi Germany's moon rocket had blown up and now this? "I wonder what caused that space blowup... I wish I could say we were responsible, but the day the Freischteet goes to space will be the day cars fly. Come on, leutnant, step on the gas!"

I'm thinking that this group ends up the same place Ryan takes James and Gunner. One thing: Hawkx character should appear and join up before the Dutch cars get Erik and the others to the governor.

_________________LEGO Builder, Writer, Video-Gamer, Greaser, History Professor, Swordsman, and Military Collector. I am the Most Interesting Man in the World. :p

This is not part of the main story, this is part of a Napoleon authorized side story, Napoleon, Khopesh, Oreo, if you don't wan't it here, I'll make a separate thread. It's kinda hard to do that when the story lacks a title though, so:

The burly man picked the gritty, concrete rubble that had been San Francisco. He knew it was a dangerous business, since the Japs had taken the west coast, patrols of the tan coated mooks were everywhere, making sure no one was scavenging supplies that would improve their lives.

Apparently, the Japanese weren’t here, which eased the scavenger a little bit. With this more positive mindset, he kept digging, knowing his find wouldn’t be too valuable, as the Japanese always had men near the places like red cross buildings and fallout shelters. They made sure everyone was a living skeleton, totally dependant on the Japs, even needing a permit to farm on “Japanese” land.

Eventually, he got through the rubble, and was very pleased with his small find, four cans of beans, a cartridge box chock full of the rare .44 ball rounds he needed for his no. 2 Dragoon pistol, and a heated blanket. “Jethro” he told himself “you’ve hit the jackpot”! The beans would feed him for four whole days, the bullets, which were almost impossible to find, would come in handy, and the electric blanket would fetch a pretty price from an Arizona bound trader. Jethro let a genuine grin escape.

“Lucky find, dog?” a harsh voice questioned from behind. The grin on Jethro’s face disappeared as fast as it appeared. Jethro spun around to see a Japanese lieutenant, SNLF at that.

“Why, yes my good friend. Care for a smoke?” Jethro said mockingly as he held out a cigarette.

The paratrooper was not amused, he drew his katana and sliced the cigarette in two, watching it roll to the ground and said “slaves have no business insulting their masters”.

“You may be a master, but sure as Hades I ain’t no slave”! By this point, Jethro was teeming with anger. He loose an uppercut that connected with the Jap’s nose, quite literally beating the snot out of the SNLF lieutenant.

“You shall pay for dis, you insoldent andimal!” screamed the paratrooper, his words quite disrupted by his nose, which he was attempting to bandage with a silk handkerchief he had procured.

“No” muttered Jethro, disgustedly “You will, Dog”. Before the bleeding Jap could utter another word, Jethro whipped his old Colt no.2 out of his leather jacket and shot the Jap in the left eye.

“Nice sword, buddy” Jethro whispered to the corpse, taking the katana from it’s deceased owner. Swords were rare, trade items, very popular Miwok Indians. Of course, there’s a chance that the Miwok you sell that sword to kills you in an ambush the next day, but that’s a chance that’s worth the profit it would bring.

His work done, Jethro made his way back to his beaten, Harley-Davidson, loot in hand. Gunning the motor, Jethro headed Northeast, in the direction of Reno.

So, do you like it? Sorry if this is the wrong place.

_________________Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good-Rom12:21

I'm just trying to love God, people, and life. We're all people, what else matters?

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